


Endovascular Hybrid Trauma and Bleeding Symposium 2013

by virginholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Airplane Sex, Ex Lovers, M/M, No Mary, PWP, Prompt Fill, Quickies, Very very small amounts of angst, Very very tiny Cabin Pressure reference, post trf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 08:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9539567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virginholmes/pseuds/virginholmes
Summary: His therapist says he needs to do something "new". How about something old, borrowed and blue?





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt I found on otpprompts.tumblr.com: "Person A is one of those semi-miserable people that like sitting in the window seat of the airplane just so they have an excuse not to talk to whoever sits next to them. Contradictorily, they also like to chant “please sit next to me” in their head at whoever they thought was cute. However, when Person B takes a seat next to them, they’re breathless. A struggles for something to say and stutters once they started a conversation, but A and B quickly warm up to each other. Perhaps a bit too quickly. Maybe they even try to make it to the mile-high club. You decide."
> 
> I needed something quick and (relatively) easy to shake the cobwebs. Even when writing this I had a few ideas pop-up for where/how I can flesh it out. Curse ye, imagination. 
> 
> Anyway, I don't own Sherlock and the characters etc. etc., however I do own all grammatical/spelling/porn mistakes.
> 
> Enjoy! x

The medical conference was his therapist's idea.

"I know you loved London, John- "

"I don't."

Ella sighed, clasping her hands firmly in her lap. "But," she began firmly, "I think you need to do something new." She shrugged, "Different."

John gave a dry chuckle, "How is another sodding medical conference in Dublin 'new'?"

Ella picked up her pen and her notepad, "You were invited."

A curt "Summoned" was John's reply.

She wrote a small note on her clipboard, and it took all of John's willpower not to read it.

"They want the famous Doctor John Watson to speak, I'd hardly call that a summoning." John's nostrils flared and he firmly rubbed at the skin between his thumb and forefinger.

Ella seemed to believe if he did something for himself, that if he showed initiative in his own progress that it would help with the passing. He seemed to think for a moment, before it was with a resigned sadness (a far improvement from strangled anger) that John said, "They'd want him there too."

Ella looked at John intently, "Do you really think they'd want Sherlock Holmes at a conference discussing -" She looked at her notepad "Endovascular hybrid trauma?" She watched as Sherlock's full name was received by John. He was almost completely still. A long way from violent flinches and murderous glares, then.

Another humourless laugh, "No I guess not."

 

And that is how John found himself battling for overhead locker space with an older lady wearing Harry Potter glasses. As he reached upwards to shove his bag in the corner before it was claimed by a rather large hat box, his jumper rode up to show the obvious tail-end of his L9A1. Harry Potter's gran conceded pretty quickly after that. Feeling smug, John sat at the window, a coveted position if you ask him. No other passengers to look at or talk to, plus he was always quite fond of a view.

The last of the passengers were tricking past, each one accompanied by John's rather repetitive inner monologue, 'Not me, not me'. It was only when the last of the businessmen, children and their minders and some very attractive females sporting Hen's night paraphernalia shuffled past did he begin to celebrate his empty-row victory.

A rough "Excuse me" took his victory out of underneath him. John remained calm, breathing through his nose, and focused on the baggage trucks circling the tarmac. It came again. "Hey, excuse me." John finally turned around and laid eyes on the most stunning man (only second to an old flat-mate of his). Tall but not freakishly so, broad shoulders that gave breadth to a wicked waistline, and those eyes, they showcased the colour of brown only known to rocky terraces hidden under waterfalls. And speaking of waterfalls, the ginger hair that dusted his forehead was as controlled, yet as untamed as one. This all belonged to a man, a man named-

"Moran?"

Those eyes reached his, and the lips that were only seconds ago pressed into a thin line, broke into a smirk. "Fucking hell, John Watson."

John sat up a little straighter in his chair as he watched the man place his carry-on next to his own, not-so-subtly enjoy the expanse of abdomen the act showed. Moran sat down beside him, leaving not for the first time a vast ocean of space between them by occupying the end seat.

There were men like Moran known to every company. Stoic and recluse, but in a way that left everyone wanting more. These men were often good with the crows, showing them the 'fun' side of barrack life. Whether this meant showing them which towel was the Major's, who was deathly afraid of jumping spiders or where the best spots for a _private_ moment were. They were never held accountable but had a signature style. Snipers nearly always fell into this category, preferring to work alone or with one select recruit. Sebastian Moran was the British Army's best shot, and if he had stayed around long enough, they might have officially recognised him for it. John had taken up an unlikely relationship with the man. After James Sholto had been carted off with a medal, his uniform and a permanent target on his back, John was one misplaced gunshot away from packing it all in. However, Moran had transferred into his battalion and he found his love for the battlefield again (and stubble burn, but that's neither here nor there, John thought to himself almost bitterly).

He shook the warm, callused hand presented to him, remembering the last time they had done this. It seems if Moran was doing the same, withdrawing his hand he have John quite the grin. "What are the fucking odds?"

John acquiesced the statement with a small chuckle, "Yeah I know, and here I thought I was getting the row all to myself." Moran snorted, raising his hips to retrieve his mobile and placing it delicately face-down on the inner armrest. He noticed John staring and leant across to him "I'll fight you for it." There was a wicked glint in his eyes. John swallowed nervously and looked back out the window, they were slowly taxiing towards the runway. He turned back to his ex-... what exactly was still in contention, and asked "What's for you in Dublin?"

John knew that question was not even the tip of the fucking iceberg, but to have someone from his before-Sherlock past appear so suddenly had rather thrown him under the bus, or if you like, plane.

"I like the history," he answered unsurprisingly vague. He had turned most of his taught body towards John's bundle of nerves, his tongue darting out to lick the lips that John remembered quite well. It was distracting as all hell. John hadn't been this underfoot since Baskerville, when Sherlock had pressed him against the wall an-

"Please face your stewardesses for a brief safety demonstration."

John blinked, and watched the tight shirts of the crew handle being bullied into a life vest. Sebastian followed his gaze. "How about you? London hasn't let you just leave, has she?"

John frowned, "I've got a conference. All expenses paid and all. Couldn't exactly say no to a fluffy hotel bed."

Sebastian laughed quietly, plucking his mobile phone from the arm-rest and immediately letting his thumbs take over. "Still the good samaritan, are we?"

"And we still have no regard for authority, I see?" John countered, pointing at the no mobile-phone light that was just switched on. He was slowly crawling back out from under the plane, confidence seeping back into his bones with every quip.

Sebastian gave John a small salute and pocketed his phone, again with the hip lifting. John didn't know whether or not to dread or merely sit back and enjoy the next 80 minutes. They were silent whilst the plane began to gather speed, John content to watch the other planes rush past his window, quite aware of those eyes on the back of his neck.

"Seeing anyone?" Either Sebastian was playing dumb for his benefit, or he was still the same asshole he shared a tent with.

"No."

"Good." Probably both.

They shared a silent, heated exchange. In a way it was good to see even seven years and a fucking library of unanswered questions didn't douse any fires burning between them.

A harsh 'ding' rang through the cabin and both heads looked towards the noise, the cubicle sign has been turned off. An interesting expression flickered between his eyes. John had all but trained to read this man's expressions and swallowed in anticipation. The taller man rose, just dodging a drinks trolley and strode towards the toilet, throwing John a look over his shoulder before ducking inside. John gave it five seconds before he followed. Well, Ella, it wasn't going to be quite that new. He could barely close the door without getting a face full of Sebastian's collarbone, which considering his decision to even follow the man, wasn't a bad thing. The door locked with a swift click and the silence it left felt thick and heavy, but thrumming with potential.

"Contrary to the wounds I once sustained, I don't need help anymore to go, Johnny." There it was, that name. The only time he permitted it was if it came through those lips, those lips which were coming slowly towards his.

The kiss was hard and bruising. John knew the sound he made falling back onto the door could be heard, but he didn't care. The warmth that was spreading through his body hadn't been there in a long time, and he was going to _relish_ it. Steady hands cupped the back of his neck, bringing him closer. Two bodies stood flush against each other. It was no puzzle-piece bullshit but John knew it to be something else. It was muscle memory.

A small bite to his bottom lip brought him back to earth. John met those eyes with a flustered glance, and those eyes went straight to his neck. John bared it for him, letting Sebastian's mouth close over the sensitive spot just over his pulse point.

He keened.

"Jesus!"

Sebastian's chuckle vibrated through him, "Close, Johnny."

John moaned again at the use of the name, snaking his hands across Sebastian's lower back, lifting his shirt and feeling a rush at the warmth of the skin. Sebastian's hands were placed on the door either side of his head, allowing more access to John's skin below his collar.

Sebastian pulled back, satisfied with the red tinge on his handiwork. John saw the look in his eyes and went back for another kiss, enjoying re-discovering Sebastian's mouth. It went from harsh, to slow and languid. The hands near John's head slid down John's sides and coming to rest on his belt buckle. It took the skilled marksman seconds to flick it open and push the offending material over John's hips, all without breaking the contact they both desperately needed.

It was hot, it was leaving marks, it was breathlessness. It was Sebastian.

John pushed his hips forward slightly, a silent 'yes, please, now'.

The other man chuckled into the kiss, leaving small nips as he drew back, allowing him a little more room to pull John out from the confinement of his pants.

John regretted the loss of Sebastian on his mouth, as the sound that left his lips was indecent an by all means loud. Sebastian came to that realisation just after John did, closing the distance between them once he had his hand firmly situated on John's dick. It was only then did Sebastian take John's lips again, swallowing the guttural sound that came as a result of Sebastian flicking the tip with his thumb.

Once the other man had established a firm rhythm did Joh try to reciprocate, the hands that were on his waist now mirroring where the sniper's were earlier. With no break in rhythm in the kiss or from Sebastian's hand, John pulled Sebastian's length from the waistband of his underwear, the feeling and the knowledge of controlling a man like Sebastian gave John almost the same rush as Sebastian's administrations were currently giving him.

When John brought their cocks together, both men faltered in their kissing, and let the feeling wash over them. John was breathing heavily and let his forehead rest against Sebastian's equally heated one.

"Seb, oh fuck." John bucked his hips as Seb gave John's cock a particularly long and firm pull.

"That's it Johnny," Seb panted. It wasn't long before both men were teetering on the edge. John doubled his efforts, leaning once again to capture the other man in a kiss that was designed to catch Sebastian off-guard. It worked, and soon Sebastian was spilling his seed over both of their hands. John, spurred on by his old lover's reaction, followed him soon after.

They stayed like that, not kissing anymore, but joined together and letting the waves of pure pleasure crash over them. It was something they did back in the barracks. Neither of them would say anything, letting the other revel in the moment. If it was particularly bad time, they would hold each other for more time than was ever permitted.

It was only with a powerful lurch of turbulence did they break away.

Sebastian left first. Having helped with the clean up, he gave John one final kiss. A smug, but grateful gesture. John knew it to contain more, but he didn't wish to linger on it.

When the lock clicked shut once again and John was alone, he sunk to his knees. A river of emotions were cascading over him. He knew he had to get back out there. Having Sebastian aware of his mental struggle would only make things more complicated. Not many people knew of the nature of his relationship with his detective. But he didn't fall in with Sebastian for no reason. He was as smart as he was ruthless. And if he followed John after the war even a fraction of the depth he had, he would have been able to read through the blog posts.

Exiting the cubicle and carefully avoiding the all-knowing eyes of a stewardess taking a glass from a tray table, he made his way back to his seat. Well, ex-seat.

"If you wanted the window seat, you could have just asked." John said as he stood against the arm rest of the outer chair.

 Seb looked up at him, with what John was pleased to see as red, swollen lips. "I believe I did say I'd fight you for it".

John sat in the seat closest to the aisle, making up his mind. He missed complicated. "If you're not immediately doing anything when we land, I wouldn't completely say no to a rematch."

Sebastian grinned, showing two rows of perfect teeth and his not-so-easily hid eagerness.

"You're on, Johnny."


End file.
